


the devil takes care of his own

by gavfreeordietrying



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - GTA, Fake AH Crew, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-12
Updated: 2014-08-16
Packaged: 2018-02-12 20:24:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,303
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2123490
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gavfreeordietrying/pseuds/gavfreeordietrying
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s hard to tell exactly where they stand with each other. If they were normal people with normal jobs, it’d be pretty clear cut, but running a rag tag crew terrorizing the upstanding citizens of Los Santos hardly counts as normal. GTA!verse Geovin.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

It wasn’t really a thing.  
  
Well, okay, it was a thing, but not a  _real_  Thing, you know?  
  
Sometimes things—lowercase  _t_ things!—happen. It’s not like you can just pinpoint the second it started to happen and then assign all responsibility from there, right?  
  
Sometimes a person is just sitting with their—this was where things already got jumbled because Geoff wasn’t really Gavin’s roommate because that implied a mutually shared accountability for the rent but he wasn’t something as easily classifiable as a friend either—kinda-roommate and playing some Halo when some things go down.  
  
Gavin didn’t really feel like he could properly be labelled the instigator in the event. Sure he maybe got a bit leggy, sprawled across the couch and making a stellar attempt to distract Geoff by intermittently pressing the pads of his toes against his inner thigh and bowing his foot across his hip to rock him back and forth.  
  
But that didn’t necessarily mean that Geoff had to pop a boner of all things! And Geoff was totally the one who escalated everything, because it’s not like Gavin actually did anything after that point besides stare at the screen with a dry mouth and voices over the headset ringing distantly in his ears, while Geoff was the one actively pressing down on his foot and grinding up, fingers unyielding and heat burning against the arch of his foot. And okay, maybe he helped a little, toes flexing experimentally, but besides that, it was totally all Geoff.  
  
Or it was until Geoff moved his feet to the side and stood up with a muttered “bathroom” and Gavin only waited approximately ten seconds before following after him and he wasn’t exactly sure who instigated what after that but it ended with Gavin on the counter with his ankle’s locked behind Geoff’s back and his godawful mustache scratching along his adam’s apple, so he was going to strike that off as a draw.  
  
But he was getting a little ahead of everything, because that made them sound like just a couple of normal guys having a Thing, but this wasn’t exactly a Thing because they weren’t really normal guys. It was just a thing. The lowercase was very important.  
  
It was complicated.  
  
——  
  
Gavin was lost, tired, and hungry when he got offered a job. He wasn’t exactly adverse to the line of work, there was a reason why he had left England for shores less inclined to arrest him, but he was a bit reluctant to change said inclination so quickly.  
  
A hungry stomach can be highly persuasive, though.  
  
It wasn’t anything big, or at least it wasn’t supposed to be. Just a hit on some guy that pissed off this local Russian kingpin-type. Small time. Easy peasy.  
  
He was given a list of places the guy—Geoff was the name he was given but who knows if it was an alias—apparently liked to frequent and after the fifth night and the tenth bar Gavin found him.  
  
He tailed after him to a shitty neighborhood and an even shittier apartment, waiting the floor below on the fire escape until the lights went out and then another thirty minutes or so for good measure.  
  
Sliding the bathroom window up and chuckling to himself over the sheer carelessness of some people, he lifts himself through. The last thing he expects to meet on the other side is a bat to the head.  
  
—-  
  
Gavin awakes with a violent start, choking on something viscous and warm. He tries to lunge forward and cough out whatever was trickling into the back of his throat, but something catches across his chest. He’s completely discombobulated, head ringing and his nose feeling like it got knocked clean off his noggin. He really hopes that isn’t the case.  
  
Through the fog of pain and head trauma, he realizes that he is in a car and at that discovery barely manages to crack open one eye, the other clotted with congealed blood. He finds himself strapped in shotgun inside a car he’s never seen before, and blearily turns his attention towards the driver. The oh-so-mysterious driver catches the movement and smiles. “Good. You’re up. _I_  wanted to go to bed an hour ago, but you just had to take your sweet time holding your dick out on my fire escape.”  
  
Right. The hit.

Gavin groans, deciding this probably tops his list of unfortunate situations to be in and attempting to turn away despite the general unresponsiveness of his body. He manages to tentatively touch his finger tips to his nose and is relieved to find that against all odds it’s still there, although he doesn’t remember it sitting quite like that. Resting his forehead against Geoff’s window and closing his good eye, he rebels on behalf of his nose by drooling blood over his door. He’s pretty sure he’s going to hurl if he swallows any more of the stuff, anyways.

Plus, maybe this way at some point in the future Geoff’ll be under investigation and one of those CSI people will swab the car and someone will be able to tell his parents that he bought it out here in ‘the land of the free’.

The bastard smacks him over the head, making him yelp from the rattle it gave his nose. “Hey, hey, don’t go back to sleep. We went over this, you’re not going to take a power nap when I still have to go dump your body.”  
  
It was about as he expected. You don’t just give someone who came to assassinate you a ride for the hell of it. He rolls his head weakly to rest his chin on his left shoulder, spotting a roll of garbage bags in the back seat. He tries to say something and makes a raspy, garbled noise instead before working some spit into his mouth and making another effort. “What’d you do? To the Russian?” He thinks he’s probably speaking coherently, but at the same time he also suspects he may have a concussion so he probably shouldn’t be making judgments.  
  
Geoff doesn’t answer at first, but he does stop his humming to a crackled, faint song over the radio. “Did I knock an accent into you?”  
  
Gavin laughs and quickly whimpers when the motion tears his headache a new one. “I’m English, you git.”  
  
“Huh.” Geoff sounds almost interested, turning off the radio completely. “Okay, I’ll let you in on it, but only because I thought it was funny. So, I robbed the guy’s yacht, right. While he was there, in the bathroom. Threw a cabinet in front of the door and left him in there while he blew a fucking gasket.” He seems entirely pleased with himself over it, scratching his stubble below an easygoing smile.  
  
Somehow his good nature catches, and Gavin flashes bloody teeth in a quick grin. “Well isn’t that just top. I’m going to die because some guy got robbed on the shitter. Couldn’t ask for a more upstanding death.” Something is just inherently funny about going down over something so asinine, after running away all the way to America to avoid this exact situation.   
  
“You’re not one of his guys?”  
  
“Nope, just a bloke conned into an ‘easy job’ I’m afraid.” Gavin sighs, fingers missing and mashing against the console a few times before managing to hit the button for heated seats. Hey, if he was going out he was at least going to be comfortable.

“Rough.” Geoff whistles. “No hard feelings then I hope?”

“Oh, course not. I get it.” A strange lightness was beginning to work its way into his head, half giddiness from having such a friendly conversation with a guy who was on his way to kill him and dump his body and also probably half concussion. Whatever the case, he is in a good mood. “Do you have any food?”

“Wow, you’re a needy guy aren’t you?” Geoff sounds distinctly not actually annoyed to Gavin’s ears.

His stomach growls in response. “Come on, I’m poor and hungry. Give me a last meal.” He attempts to use his head as leverage to raise his body off the seat and get a better view of the backseat.

“Fine.” Man, Geoff was a pretty accommodating soon-to-be murderer. Considerate, even. He even put Gavin’s seat belt on and everything. “I think I have something back here.” Keeping his left hand on the wheel, he twists his body around to pull something out of the backseat. It was a pretty irresponsible driving habit, but seeing how Gavin hadn’t seen a single car since he woke up, they were probably safe. Or at least Geoff was.

One moment he was rummaging in the back and the next he’s ramrod still and Gavin does not miss the abrupt transition. “Were you working with someone?”

“What?” Why was Geoff asking him dumb questions instead of getting him his food? “No— well I was hired by myself but that doesn’t necessarily mean other people weren’t hired for the same thing or they didn’t send out some people.” He scoots himself over to look in the side mirror and sure enough, there are headlights in the distance that were steadily gaining.

“You’re literally the worst tail I’ve ever met,” he returns to his seat not with the desired snacks but a semi-auto handgun instead, which is pretty much as far off as a person could be. “Who tails someone and doesn’t notice they’re also being tailed?” Gavin notes that he’s steadily decelerating, and is starting to think he isn’t getting that food. “Babies. That’s who.”

If Gavin had a muddily-formed retort it was lost to the ages as Geoff suddenly slams on the brakes and his head crashes nose-first into the console. He vaguely feels the car spinning as a raw scream rips his way from his throat. He takes back everything he said about Geoff being a stand-up guy if it wasn’t for the whole dumping his body thing, he’s absolutely the devil.

Both eyes manage to open this time, the bloody mess over his bad eye moistened by fresh tears, and Geoff is unbuckling and hauling him across the gear shift and out onto the pavement. It was by no means gentle, and Gavin lands in a mass of limbs on his back.

There’s yelling coming from the other side of the car and Geoff is shooting over the roof, his driver seat window shattering and raining safety glass over Gavin’s prone form.

And to think, this was supposed to be an easy job but here he was with a doubly-broken nose in the middle of a shootout on some backwater road.

He picks himself off of the ground, but only manages a squat against the open car door. There is a gargled shout somewhere out in the world and then the night once again falls silent. He glances up and Geoff looks rather put out, like this was just something obnoxious he was forced to deal with instead of an actual life-threatening situation.

“So that’s done as dicks. I don’t even get why they hired you if they were gonna send out their own guys.” Geoff’s shoulders relax and his finger raises off the trigger when Gavin catches a flash of movement.

“Geoff, watch out, there’s still a—!” The shot rings out before the words are out of his mouth, before Geoff turns around, arm only half-raised as a bullet tears through it. The handgun goes clattering across the asphalt, Geoff breathing out a swear between his teeth as he falls back against the car.

Gavin gapes at the suited man walking forward, gun trained at Geoff’s head. He must’ve slipped away and circled around in the darkness, which was pretty cold considering that meant he sat quiet when his comrades were getting shot.

“Shouldn’t have pissed off the boss.” The stranger grits and Gavin dives forward, wrists and elbows scraping the ground, fingers finding the cool steel of the gun grip and whipping it around to empty the clip into his head before he can even change his target to the younger man. Gavin drops the gun as the man crumbles to the ground, closing his eyes and doing his best not to throw up from rattling his head around so much.

Both of them are breathing hard, Gavin laying on the ground and Geoff against the car. Geoff speaks first. “You’re not affiliated with anyone here?”

“Fresh off the boat.” Gavin answers airily with a wave.

“I’m thinking of moving west.” Geoff starts and Gavin can’t imagine where he’s going with this. “I’m played out here. I need a crew, though, and don’t really know anyone out there.”

The Brit pushes himself up with his forearms, looking disbelievingly at the brunette because this was starting to sound suspiciously like a—

“Want a position?” He is smiling and its mischievous and stunning and annoying all at the same time.

“I tried to kill you!” Gavin blurts out incredulously, feeling a bit exasperated but unable to fully eradicate the upward quirk to his lips. “You were going to kill me!”

Geoff laughs and his voice breaks but it doesn’t quell his laughter in the least bit and it’s entirely endearing. “Well, now it’s out of our systems. Can you really trust a person if you haven’t tried to kill each other yet?”

“You’ve gone bloody mental.” But he holds his hand up for the other to take it because there’s no way he’s getting off the ground under his own power. “Get me to a hospital and it’s a maybe.”


	2. Chapter 2

When they reach Los Santos, Gavin discovers that Geoff is a big fat liar because he totally does know someone out here, and said acquaintance is currently helping them unload a bunch of duffel bags into a somewhat modest apartment. “You don’t know anyone out here?”

Geoff snorts, loading a particularly heavy bag onto his shoulder. “I was thinking Jack moved somewhere out here but I wasn’t actually sure until I gave him a call while you were getting yourself stitched up. Besides, just me and him wouldn’t be a crew, it’d be a partnership.”

He feels a bit assuaged at that, and closes the now-empty trunk. He never really gave Geoff an answer even after the hospital, but he guesses that just sitting back in the passenger seat and not objecting when Geoff took off on the interstate was an answer enough. He slept like the dead off and on for a while until he was somehow convinced to take the wheel for a few hours even though he was unsure about the safety of driving with recovering head trauma. Compared to the events before the hospital, the drive was pretty uneventful.

It didn’t take long to discover that Geoff was super weird. Which was actually nice, because that just meant when Gavin said something that’d usually earn him a pause, Geoff would instead just lose it, turning into a laughing, shaking mess. Out of all the people Gavin could have been hired to kill, subsequently clobbered by, and then somehow formed an alliance with, he was starting to come to the conclusion that he couldn’t have ended up with anyone better.

There is a sudden skip to his step at the thought as they climbed the steps to Jack’s apartment, a bright smile playing across his features.

“What’re you so smiley about?” Geoff asks over his shoulder, looking more curious than anything.

“Not a thing!” Gavin overtakes him with a sudden bound, hand flitting to the top of the duffel bag as it bangs harshly into his thigh for the fourth time. “What’s even in these bloody things, anyways?” Without waiting for an answer, he unzips and peaks inside. “Geoff.”

“Hm?”

“Are you planning on opening up an armory?”

Geoff laughs at that, boisterously and without any regard for the probably sleeping occupants of the apartments they were passing. “I’ll probably sell some of it, yeah, but that’s just for some startup money. Then we’ll be on to bigger and better things.”

Gavin’s steps slow, falling behind the older man once again, and Geoff turns to face him. “Bigger and better things?”

Geoff’s mouth pulls into a lopsided grin and Gavin feels his own expression mirroring the action, shoulders drawing up and shivering in excitement.

Jack ends up being really cool, which Gavin was thankful for considering they spent about three weeks sharing his couch. He seemed kind of serious and quiet at first and he spent the first day in Jack’s house tiptoeing around until he suddenly said the funniest thing from out of left field and Gavin was pretty sure his appendix would’ve burst from his laughing fit if he didn’t already get it out a few years ago. Jack made jokes like a hit and run and palled around with Geoff like they were both highschoolers and by evening, an easygoing mood quickly overtook the apartment.

Jack helped him change his bandages and gave Geoff a hard time over the injuries and they sat around the kitchen counter in the early am hours writing out plans on yellow notepads. It felt more like a family than anything Gavin had experienced in the past ten years and he doesn’t waste time dwelling on that.

But Geoff snores and punches in his sleep and splits open his stitches that first night on the small pull-out couch, so Gavin isn’t entirely disappointed when a few arms sales finish going through and they find an apartment and get out of Jack’s hair.

There isn’t a single moment where Geoff suggests Gavin moving into his own apartment, so he never brings it up either.

When Gavin finally gets to see the apartment on move in day and there’s only one bedroom with one bed, he never brings that up either.

“So, I was thinking.” It’s noon and Geoff is sitting at their card table while Gavin brews a fresh pot in their thrift-store-find coffee pot. His stitches above his eye are out and despite his fears that his sniffer was permanently damaged, it didn’t even need to be set and the bruise that had blossomed across his bridge had long since faded.

“Really?” Gavin teases, eyebrows raised as he holds down the button on the machine because that’s the only way it’ll actually brew.

Geoff shoots him a level look, before continuing on. “I’ve been doing some recon and couldn’t help but notice that there’s some mighty nice yachts doing some awfully illegal things out on the water.” His smile is wicked.

“Sounds like someone should do something.”

—-

They bring in one of Jack’s associates for the job: Michael Jones. He’s there as a sort of tryout under recommendation—only playing backup and getaway—and Gavin feels a bit proud that he had been personally invited after the whole backwater shootout bit, even if his part in the heist ended up basically the same as Michael’s. He likes to think that just meant Geoff gave him the very important task of watching the new guy. He’s a little giddy over both the responsibility and having someone more his age to hang out with even if the guy is a little grumpy and keeps insisting this was a job, not a ‘hang out’.

None of that stops him from chatting with Michael as they wait for the signal, the surf rocking their getaway boat. “How do you know Jack?”

Michael is checking over his gun for the umpteenth time with a practiced ease that was impressive the first five times he did it, lips drawn into a frown and brows furrowed. “We both ended up on the same job a while ago, shit went south and we were the only two that walked out. He’s good at what he does.” He shoots Gavin a sideways glance, “which doesn’t explain what he’s doing with you.”

He chuckles instead of getting offended, which seems to only serve to worsen the other’s mood. “Well, you know how goes.”

“See, that’s exactly what I’m talking about. You haven’t given a serious answer or wiped that stupid smile off your face once since I was let in on this job. It’s goddamn unprofessional.” He finally sets his gun down, instead leaning back in the driver’s seat with his arms crossed across his chest.

“And you’re being a complete stick in the mud even though we literally have nothing else to do except chit chat.” Gavin nudges him with his elbow, smirking.

The radio crackles and Geoff’s voice rings out, “uh, we’ve got a bit of a proble—”

Michael’s foot is on the gas and Gavin’s SMG in is his hand as the line goes dead. They blow past Jack and Geoff’s rented jet ski—RIP security deposit—and as they approach the vessel the sound of gunfire carries across the water.

Michael’s attempting to line the boat up and that’s too slow for Gavin so he’s jumping across the gap before he can really think it through, barely managing to catch the railing. He hears Michael shouting something beneath him as he pulls himself up and over.

There’s a few women huddled behind the bar on the deck—the type of entourage a guy brings on when he wants to show off—and he knows they’re not really part of this but he can’t help the way his voice raises, “where are they?”

Fingers are pointing to the stairs and that’s good enough for him, he’s taking them three steps at a time, heart pounding in his ears. The door to the next deck is closed and there’s not even a moment’s hesitation as he shoulders it open. The dealers and what looks like a security force, an unexpected addition to the equation, are the closest with their backs to him, a table covered in bricks of coke and a suitcase of money in the in between, and most importantly, Geoff and Jack pinned down on the opposite side of the deck alive and mostly well.

He lays down a sweeping round of fire, clipping a few of them and making his presence as a guy with a gun known. There is an effort to spin around, guns drawn, and Gavin tuts. “Ah ah. I’m afraid you’re surrounded.” Michael comes clambering out of the doorway, assault rifle held at eye-level, and Gavin appreciates the back up.

A man who is identifiable as the leader of the force bristles, but gives his comrades that are still whole and standing a nod. They lower their guns to the floor. “Kick ‘em here.” Gavin is half convinced the guy is gonna rush him from the glower he receives, but they all acquiesce. He keeps his SMG raised, not moving his gaze from the lot as he calls out, “DG, P, you alright?”

“Right as rain.” Geoff saunters out from their cover like he was never pinned in the first place, but there’s something in his expression that Gavin thinks might be pride. Something tenses in the pit of his stomach at the thought and he ducks his head to concentrate on zip tying the whole lot’s hands instead. Geoff’s completely casual as he pulls his duffel bag forward from behind his back and sweeps the bricks into it, followed shortly by him nonchalantly emptying the suitcases contents in after them. “Pleasure doing business with you boys.”

On their way back to shore Michael slaps him on the back approximately twenty times and Jack gives him a ‘good job’ as he counts cash stacks, but it’s Geoff’s single pat on his shoulder that he can feel against his skin the rest of the ride home.

—-

“I think Michael would be great on the team.” Gavin muses to Geoff’s back, because he can tell when he’s still awake. “He didn’t even question running in to save you guys. He’s trustworthy, probably.” The covers are kicked down to the bottom of the bed, an occasional breeze wafting in through the window offering a rare reprieve from the still summer heat. He is hot and sticky and can’t stop his mind from whirring away.

“I’m not sure if that was trustworthy or stupid. For both of you.” Geoff mumbles back, but his voice is sleep-tinged and doesn’t hold an ounce of sincere criticism.

“We need more guys. We could’ve had more eyes and ears and someone would’ve caught wind of the security team before you were walking straight into them.” He pushes, and Geoff rolls onto his back. Gavin catches a glimpse of a reflection from the streetlights outside in the other’s eyes, before he closes them. “It was just luck that I got there before anything happened.”

Geoff’s lips quirk upwards. “Luck’s been the only difference between me and at least fifty other dudes who’re rotting in the ground now.”

“You’re a cheeky little bastard.”

Geoff makes some noncommittal noise and returns to his side, facing the empty wall.  

Minutes pass and Gavin scoots closer, even though Geoff always complains about either his body heat or perpetually cold feet. The knuckles of one hand rap against the wrist of his other, pressed close to his chest, and his forehead comes to rest lightly between tattooed shoulder blades. He lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding and screws his eyes shut. He knows Geoff’s still awake.

He wakes up with the sun pouring through the window and it’s too hot to live. There’s a nose buried in his hair, soft puffs exhaled against his scalp, and an arm curled around his shoulders. He’s sweaty and more overheated than he can stand, but he can’t bring himself to move.

Geoff never complains about him being too hot or his feet too cold again.


End file.
